


You'll Never Be Rid of Me

by cicerhoe



Category: French History RPF, French Revolution RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicerhoe/pseuds/cicerhoe
Summary: Nightmares aren't the only thing Maximilien suffers from after Camille dies. Guilt appears in the form of hallucinations, too.





	You'll Never Be Rid of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back, back again. I'm back with that angsty af Camille/Maxime content. Will I ever write something cute between these two? Who knows. Enjoy!

Maxime…Maxime…MaximeMax _imeMaximeMaximeMAXIME–_

The words seem to bounce around Maximilien, surrounding him, wrapping around him and leaving him sitting in the middle of his bed, paralyzed with fear. _Maxime. Maxime. Maxime. Maxime. Don’t ignore me, Maxime. Don’t ignore me. You have to face me._

Camille’s voice taunts him, grates in his ears, leaves him feeling sick. Maximilien looks in the corner of the room. Camille is there, sitting in the chair that has always been there. Maximilien tries to look away, and now Camille is standing next to the bed, scowling, gaze accusing. Maximilien looks away again. He swears he feels Camille right behind him, breath on his ear.

“Try to ignore me all you want, Maxime, but let’s face it, you won’t ever be rid of me. You know why? You want to know why? Because. You know you killed me. You know this is _your fault._ You’ve left Horace without parents. Do you ever stop to think about why? What happened to you? When did you turn into such a _fucking monster,_ Maxime?”

Here, there is no stutter. Here, this is only cruel, cutting words. A guilty conscience in the guise of a man Maximilien loved dearly. He squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them. Now Camille stands in front of him. There is blood dripping from an open wound on his neck. He smiles. It is all teeth. It is unnatural.

“You can’t even say anything to me, can you? Oh, poor Maxime. I told you the guilt would eat you alive. But it’s nothing less than you deserve, is it?” A pause. The ghostly apparition flicks his hair out of his face in the way that only Camille did. He laughs again. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “Hm. Look at you. How is your relationship with Saint-Just going? Is it any better? Does he love you like I did? Ha–don’t _delude_ yourself. Do you think a man like that is even capable of it? Do you even think that you are worthy of love now?”

Maximilien is still silent, tears welling up and rolling down his face. Camille clicks his tongue. “I don’t pity you, Maxime. You did this to yourself. You know that, don’t you? That this is your fault? …Of course you do.”

A sniff, and Maximilien closes his eyes again, rubs at them, willing the vision to go away. Now the voice is on the other side of the room. “Try all you might, Maxime, but you cannot will me away. I will be with you until you die. At the rate you’re going, we might be together again sooner than you think.”

He glances over. Camille is back in the chair. His head is in his lap and blood cascades down the front of his shirt, stains the chair. “You’ll never be rid of me. Never. Never, Maxime. _**N E V E R.”**_

Maximilien blinks once. Twice. The apparition is gone..for now. He looks at Brount sleeping at the end of his bed. What he wouldn’t give to have that kind of luxury right now.

So he slowly makes his way underneath the blankets, and he closes his eyes, trying to find some peace in the way of sleep, but no sooner does it reach him than he is greeted with the sight of Camille once again, still smiling, still laughing.

_“You will never be rid of me.”_


End file.
